


genesis

by leere



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gen, No Sex, Nothing Skeevy, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leere/pseuds/leere
Summary: Silva has made a career out of destroying lives - he thinks it's about time he creates one.
Relationships: Severine/Raoul Silva | Tiago Rodriguez
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	genesis

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so, I wrote this in September because I fixated on Skyfall. Silva is a fantastic character and I find him absolutely fascinating. I read a bunch of 00Silva fic and that was a good outlet, but then I started thinking about Silva and Sévérine's dynamic, and I realized how much insight it gave us into his character. So I wrote this. It's subtle, just some headcanon'd background into how they met and how his brain works. I hope anyone left in this fandom enjoys.
> 
> Disclaimer: Anyone who's seen the film knows this, but Silva and Sévérine do not have a good relationship. I'm not glorifying it, by any means; I'm just looking deeper into its potential origin, because the movie was incredibly vague. Frankly, the film did terrible handling Sévérine as a character, in every way, and at the very least she deserves some depth. Unfortunately she is a character who's fate was directly linked to a man, so I can't do her much justice. Yanno what, now that I think about it, this fic is kind of just exploring Silva's psyche at Sévérine's expense... ah. Well. Dark fic is dark fic.
> 
> Also: with the "nothing skeevy" tag, I mostly mean that Sévérine is an underage prostitute here, and Silva has absolutely no interest in her in that way. So there's nothing gross in that capacity. However, he's still creepy, because he's Silva, so while I don't think this will be outright triggering, there's still some iffy stuff. Mostly involving child exploitation, Silva being creepy-affectionate, and emotional manipulation of a child.

Sévérine was, of course, a project. An experiment, perhaps. Something of his creation. He'd been tossing around the idea of a protégé for a while, bored of his typical hacking antics. Instilling fear in strangers at the push of a few buttons was always fun, but he thought it was about time to play with someone's mind on a personal level. To bend them to his will - and to break them once the bending got old.

When he'd met her, she was in elegant black lingerie, sporting bruises to match. They littered her thighs and arms, circled her wrists and throat, black and yellow and purple, though makeup had been applied in an attempt to mask them. Her lips were blood red and split, and her eye makeup was smokey, doing little to deflect from two black eyes. It was makeup befitting an older woman - this was a girl of fifteen.

She was an offering from the man he was doing business with, awaiting him in his suite that night. Her eyes flashed with fear when Silva began to walk towards her, but she kept her head high and her jaw steady.

Silva sat down on the bed and touched her cheek. To her credit, she didn't flinch; she held his gaze, almost like she was challenging him. His lips twitched up at the corners briefly. "I'm insulted that in his evaluation of me, Zhou concluded I'd be the type to prefer a child over a grown woman."

"Every time he's drawn that conclusion in the past, he's been correct," she tells him. She's French, the accent thick on her tongue, but her eyes suggest Oriental ancestry. 

"Maybe I'm old fashioned, but if it were me, I'd avoid doing business with those who are.. juvenilely inclined."

"I suggest you pull out of your arrangement with Mr. Zhou himself, then," she says stiffly. "He prefers his women young."

"Noted," Silva tells her, and frowns, because he's actually lost all desire to make a deal with Zhou, regardless of how profitable doing so may be. While a decidedly amoral character, he has some standards, most involving the exploitation of children. He looks at this young girl, face put on to look so much older than she is, and feels sympathetic. He knows what it's like to be taken from your home as a youth and forced into a dangerous life. Or course, he'd felt saved at the time. His world prior to his recruitment into MI6 was a unforgiving and dangerous one. His life as a spy had been too, yes, but he'd felt supported. Like he had people watching out for him. A family, keeping him safe, like the one he'd been born into never had.

This young one - she wasn't afforded that luxury. Silva knew she'd probably spent her first few months sobbing for her mother. Waiting for her father to come save her. Desperately wanting comfort that never came. If she befriended any fellow slaves, they'd undoubtedly been separated not long after. No, this poor soul had no security net. No affection. Nothing but pain and filth and loneliness.

Not unlike Silva's time in Chinese captivity. Waiting for M to come get him... finally realizing she never would. 

"What's your name, my dear?" he asks, brushing her hair out of her face with gentle fingers.

"Sévérine," she answers, softly. She's searching his eyes - he wonders how often she lets herself hope a john might save her, and finds herself disappointed. He doesn't know how long she's been in this terrible world - if she's still naïve enough to hope for such silly things.

"You're French, I take it?"

"I was," she says. "French mother, Chinese father." 

"Peculiar mix, yet your parents genes were kind to you."

"Thank you." She sits up, now, so she's slightly less exposed. "Your accent - you're a Spaniard?"

"Portuguese," Silva corrects. "Are you educated in geography?"

"I was fond of school when I went." She thumbs idly at a bruise on her arm and winces when she applies too much pressure.

Silva grasps her arm softly and pulls it towards him to inspect it. "Did a client do this? Or was it your, ah, souteneur?" 

She inhales sharply and tries to tug her arm away. 

"I'm asking you a question, Miss Sévérine."

She looks at him, eyes big with fear. She swallows, but says in a measured tone, "In my line of work, injuries are commonplace. It's of no concern, though it's certainly not very pretty." She tries to laugh, but it's hollow. "I apologize if you find them repulsive."

"They do little to distract from your natural beauty." Silva lets go of her arm. She's incredibly tiny, her wrist so thin, it's not hard to imagine someone easily snapping it. He shakes his head. "I cannot understand men who feel a need to inflict pain upon defenseless women. They do it to feel like big men, yes, but to me, I think that would not accomplish its intended purpose. I feel, instead, they should try to inflict pain upon men who are their physical and mental equal. That way, upon winning, they could truly feel superior."

"Most men enjoy easy victories because their ego can't handle the idea of losing."

Silva smiles. "You are very right, _querida_." 

He sits back and studies her; she holds his gaze, only losing her nerve once and pretending to adjust the strap of her stilettos. 

This is a perfect opportunity, he thinks, to finally take on an apprentice. She's brimming with untapped potential, evident in her grace and wit, and he knows, guided by careful and loving hands, she could easily become an incredibly cultured, and deadly, accomplice in his work. And while he does sympathize with her for what she's been through, he also knows that for it she's all the more controllable. She's already young and easily influenced, but even more, she's desperate to be rescued. She'll gladly do anything her savior asks of her, if only for fear of being given back to Zhou if she refuses. While he does frequently use fear to control others for his own gain, he has no intention of doing such a thing to this young girl. But he knows she's smart enough to worry about it - so she'll behave. She'll go to his island with him, and she'll do as he says.

From there, he can mold her into anything he chooses - and like his other possessions, he wants her elegant and refined, but never ineffectual. He has expensive taste, yes, but he's far from materialistic; never purchasing things simply because he can. Everything he owns has a higher purpose, an intended use he bestows upon them that their creator had never considered, and in that way, he is a god. And those possessions ultimately help him achieve what he wants; his Sévérine will be no different.

Right now she's beautiful and broken; he will fix her, and then upgrade her, as he does with his electronics. And then she will be his weapon, just as dangerous as she is beautiful. She'll catch the eye and grasp the heart of any given man he might need something from. A femme fatale of his own creation.

He'd be a much better mentor and caregiver than M ever was. He'd be attentive and loving, firm, but always gentle. He'd shower her with praise when she did well, and he'd gain enough of her respect that his very disappointment would be punishment for her mistakes. 

And, above all, he'd always keep her safe. He'd never want his creation put in harm's way - what kind of father would he be?

Unless, of course, she betrayed him. Or lost her usefulness, although she wasn't a necessity now and he doubted she'd ever be something he absolutely couldn't live without. For now, he was content for Sévérine to be the one superfluous thing in his life. He only hoped, for her sake, she wouldn't get on his nerves - or worse, bore him.

But currently, he was optimistic. Already, at just fifteen, she was more interesting to talk to then the last three hundred people Silva had been forced to associate with, whether in a business setting or casually. Though, if anything, that only reflected badly on his fellow man, if they were outdone by an uneducated young girl.

"Dearest Sévérine. You're named for austerity, aren't you? Do you consider yourself disciplined?"

She's looking at him strangely - wondering what he's up to. Such intelligent eyes for such a young, unfortunate creature. "I'd like to think so."

"Would you be interested in recruitment?"

She blinks at him owlishly. Then her face clears - neutral and diplomatic. Potential, Silva thinks again, feeling pleased. "I've yet to even learn your name, let alone your profession, and you offer me employment?"

"Not employment, my dear. Recruitment, as I said. They are synonymous, I suppose, but recruitment brings to mind service, yes?" 

"What will I be servicing?" Sévérine asks, and her voice has gone softer; she's back to being cautious. He can't blame her.

"There will be none of the servicing you are thinking of." He sits back and clasps his hands together in his lap, assessing her. For the first time in a while, he feels electric with excitement. It buzzes under his skin, his brain flashing with ideas. A whole person, just for him, at his disposal to prod and mold. His sole raison d'être has been and will continue to be killing M, until he's accomplished his task and can end his suffering. But his meticulous plan will take a while until it's ready to execute, and a man gets bored - why not engage in a side project to pass the time? He's picked up hobbies, but none have stirred him as much as the prospect of this has. 

He's already making a mental checklist of things to teach her. How to handle a pistol, of course, and they'll practice daily until she never misses a shot. But he's also eager to expose her to beautiful fashion, and delicious cuisine, and he'll help her continue her schooling. 

She's watching him, still wary. "What type of servicing then?" she asks, carefully.

He takes her hand softly, and pulls it towards him. She watches, brows knitted, as he places her hand over his heart - then slides it to the side, towards his armpit, until her fingers brush the gun he keeps in a shoulder holster there, hidden by his flashy blazer. "I assume you're used to Zhou's associates being dangerous men."

"Yes," she says, and when he lets her go, she doesn't drop her hand; instead, she reaches for his jacket and pushes it aside, to get a look at the weapon.

He tilts her chin up so she's looking at him, rather than his gun, and says, "Zhou works with lowlife scum who dirty their fists with innocent blood for petty causes. I do more than they could dream of. My work is refined, and dignified, and executed with class. And yet, I'm more dangerous than all of them combined."

"I'll go with you," she says immediately. "I don't know what it will take, but I'm sure you will figure it out."

Silva smiles and caresses her cheek. "Very good. I'll have a talk with Zhou."

He starts to get up, but she grabs his hand. "I never got your name."

"Raoul Silva." He smiles kindly, and she smiles back, eyes glimmering, and Silva can tell it's the first one that's reached her eyes in years.

Already, he knows she trusts him with her whole heart. He understands why, considering what he's providing her, but he can't help but immediately feel disappointed. For a moment, he loses all interest in her, and he wants to simply walk away. Ignore her calling after him and leave her here - leave her wondering if she'd merely hallucinated his promise to save her.

But Sévérine senses a change in him and puts a hand on his arm, and he looks up into her concerned eyes. He sees himself reflected in them and is sure that her whole world has narrowed down to him - to what he's offering. She says his name, sugar sweet, and it dawns on him that at this very second, and if she goes with him, he is in complete control of her fate. She will be his very own marionette, existing for him and for him alone. Awaiting his attention, and eventually, his orders. It fills him with a sense of power, in a way that makes his hands tremble. 

So he reaches for her face, tears filling his eyes. "I will make you," he whispers, fingers gentle on her cheek. 

Her brow furrows. "Make me what, Mr. Silva?"

He reaches up and pets her hair, and he doesn't say a word. 


End file.
